The 141 The Killers
by unexpectedhero
Summary: The 141 on short down time.


"Oi, Scarecrow, yer better take a feckin shower the-nite.!" MacTavish cried pointing a misguided forefinger in the vicinity of Scarecrow, his words slurred to the five shots he had in him.

The 141 sat around the round rollout and fold out table that was made out of cheap recycled wood with a thin paper glued to the top of it; the paper style was an dull white—there was a name for it, Roach knew there was—with specks of gray all across it in tiny shreds and chip shapes which looked like uncoordinated dots from afar. Roach memorized the table for it was the only table 141 had in their base that was covered with weapons, papers, intelligence, and equipment. That and every evening when the 141 gathered for a smoke; a drink—like tonight; dinner; a talk; or just came to be in the company of others, Roach sat in his spot carving away with any sharp tool he had on him (tonight was an empty pen) into the table, writing out his name. It was his spot from the carving but it wasn't the only reason why he did carve. Roach glanced up to Scarecrow who sat across from him, squeezed in between Archer and their Captain before returning to his task.

"Whut?" Scarecrow replied as if he had no idea his captain was ordering him to do. "I don't stiiiink," he side, the slanted grin upon his face.

"Yeah, you do! Real fuckin' bad!" Archer said, sneering in his face since he was closest one to him.

Roach glanced up again with a sly smirk, watching all the men leaning towards Scarecrow, accusing him of his smell, and Roach agreed silently with them, Scarecrow smelled of shit, pissed, blood, gunpowder, and just him, which was the worst out of all of them.

"This smell is of pride," Scarecrow slowly stood up, swaying left and right from the alcohol that rolled around in his system. "Something you fools don't know about."

"Ah ter 'ell wi' pride!" MacTavish yelled out, picking up his untouched shot and knocked it back; the others cried out with MacTavish's preaching knocking whatever they had left in their shot glass back.

"See! This is a reminder whut pride is!" Scarecrow defied, lifting up his arm pit to MacTavish. "Take a wiff."

MacTavish grabbed Scarecrow's arm and twisted it behind his back, standing to his feet. "Brutal feckin move," MacTavish spoke up with a grin.

Roach chuckled silently, his eyes shifting from his captain to Scarecrow, to Driver, to Ozone, to Rook, to Peasant, to Royce, to Rocket, and to Worm before his eyes fell upon his right to Ghost who sat there in silence as if he was in a different world…the way he always looked.

"Let's make him shower!"

Roach's attention was drawn back to the others finding MacTavish pulling Scarecrow away from the table by his arms. "Grab a limb! We're gunna feckin wash dis pig!" he cried out with a mocking tone. The other guys laughed before cheering, jogging or running after both Scarecrow and their captain to join in the frat boy fun. Scarecrow kicked while in mid-laugh, his legs being grabbed by his own men and his torso being wrapped with his friends' arms; surprisingly, the man was fairly ticklish, causing him to twitch in laughter as they carried him out of the "living" room to the showers.

On their way out MacTavish removed an arm from Scarecrow, nearly dropping the man to the floor though the others kept him up. "Roach! Quit carvin', that's feckin government property an' I'd 'ate ter see yer git time for bein' a feckin eejit!" he mused out though was half serious. The first time MacTavish caught sight to Roach carving away, he smacked the man in the back of his head, ordering him to stop. Roach didn't, which the others respected in some way; Roach had already been on a mission with the Captain and proved himself worthy enough, defying out of the mission was just ballsy. When Roach continued to carve, MacTavish couldn't help but ask why he was doing that, in a table at their base; Roach looked up to MacTavish and replied: "I want to be remembered when I'm dead." MacTavish laughed softly in his face before walking away, though Roach knew his captain understood him…especially after what happened with Allen.

Roach grinned weakly, shaking his head to the childish antics the 141 was displaying. He returned his attention back down to the table, scratching the empty pen deeper into the paper and cheap wood to finish up on the 'A' of his name. He found himself preoccupied with this and didn't even take notice Ghost and him were the only ones left in this room, that and Ghost was silent next to him, barely even made a sound or move.

Suddenly the tip of Ghost's gloved finger moved under Roach's face to tap at the half name of 'Roa'. "Roach's don't die," he said with a soft tone in his voice. Roach looked up to Ghost's mask, looking over the sunglasses that blocked the view of his eyes. "An' it teks a hell iv a lot tuh kill 'em." Ghost leaned back into his chair.

Roach looked back to the carved R, O, and A before he continued; he appreciated the gesture by Ghost; it was practically their first conversation together. He glanced up to his companion, asking the most stupid question possible. "You're….you're not going to go?" he asked with a motion of his head towards the door.

"I'm heor aren't ah?"

Roach's face tightened from embarrassment and looked back down to the carving; he continued. He felt extremely foolish after that, not wanting to even be near Ghost for he felt like an idiot.

"You're not gunna tuh go?" Ghost asked.

Roach looked up to Ghost, a little surprised; Ghost was trying to make him feel better…and it was working. Roach smiled and shook his head, "I'm here aren't I?" Roach liked Ghost, he was a cool guy, yeah very cool.

"Like the Killers?" Ghost asked, fiddling something with his utility belt; Roach had already gone back to carving by then, not really paying any attention to what Ghost's hands were doing.

"Killers or *the* Killers?" Roach asked. Killers are what they were and if he was asked if he liked them, Roach would honestly say no. He didn't like himself—took pride in what he did for a living, but hated who he became. *The* Killers? They were an okay band, few good songs, though wasn't a follower of their work.

Ghost never answered his question and instead he eased an iPod ear bud into Roach's left ear; with anybody else, Roach would have flinched and removed the hand from his ear, though he trusted Ghost and gave him access to get this close to him. Ghost pulled back, lifting the mask over his nose to expose the light brown stubble across his face, chapped and scarred lips; Roach looked over the man's face in awe, only for the reason he had never seen Ghost without that trademark skull ski mask. Ghost pulled the mask over his ear, easing the other ear bud; before Roach knew it he was listening to 'All The Things I've Done.' Roach's eyes fell back to the table, listening; then suddenly he heard another voice that didn't belong to the singer of the band.

"When there's nowhere else to run is there room for one more son? One more son. If you can hold on, if you can hold on, hold on." Roach looked over to Ghost just in time to watch him start air drums; Roach had no amusement for this and was more in astonishment than anything. From the way Ghost moved, he knew what he was doing on those air drums—Ghost was a music lover, go figure. "I wanna stand up, I wanna let go. You know, you know - no you don't, you don't. I wanna shine on in the hearts of men; I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand. Another head aches, another heart breaks, I am so much older than I can take and my affection, well it comes and goes I need direction to perfection, no no no no"

Here Ghost was singing alone to this song that was meant for young adults and Roach could only assume Ghost was in at least his thirties. He gave Roach a little leeway with his idiotic question. Closing his eyes, he took in a soft breath—why did Ghost have to choose the one Killers song that Roach knew by heart? With perfect harmony and time, Roach joined in, "Help me out. Yeah, you know you got to help me out; yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner, you know you got to help me out yeah."

"And when there's nowhere else to run, is there room for one more son? These changes ain't changing me, the cold-hearted boy I used to be," Ghost sung on his own, though the two started up again.

"Yeah, you know you got to help me out, Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner you know you got to help me out. You're gonna bring yourself down, Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down, Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down."

They took the beat to the pause, before the two of them stood in unison up mid-way through; Roach smiled softly though made haste to hide it, glancing over to Ghost to see if he admired their timing, but he continued on with his own thing. Turning on his heel as if he was basic training all over again and Roach followed his lead; they marched out from behind the table, continuing with the lyrics on the song.

"I got soul, but I'm not a soldier, I got soul, but I'm not a soldier. I got soul, but I'm not a soldier, I got soul, but I'm not a soldier."

Ghost and Roach suddenly heard voices other than their own and the singers from the song and they took a mere glance out to the door to see the rest of the men huddled up at the door (Scarecrow soaking wet and bear with a towel wrapped around his waist), singing along with mocking grins. This was all a big joke for them.

The 141 gathered into the room hopping and bobbing to the beat, all following the rhythm to Ghost and Roach, listening to the song playing through their heads. "I got soul, but I'm not a soldier, I got soul, but I'm not a soldier; I got soul, but I'm not a soldier I got soul, but I'm not a soldier; I got soul, but I'm not a soldier; I got soul, but I'm not a soldier~" Roach swore he heard Worm wailing with his pitch voice.

"AL' TOGETHER!" Captain yelled, jumping with ease on top of the table. Ghost followed him after, leaping from the chair to the on to the table. Roach looked up to Ghost, seeing him extending his hand out to him; Roach smiled softly and took Ghost's hand, helping the other as he hoisted him up on to the table. MacTavish grabbed Roach's other arm half-way up there, aiding Ghost out and to prevent the both of them tumbling over.

Together the 141 sang at the top of their longs to the song, the guys on the floor mosh pitting to the song even if it wasn't the exact choice of a mosh pit. To accommodate them, MacTavish, Ghost, and Roach jumped on the table in unison, letting it loose.

"Yeah, you know you got to help me out Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner You know you got to help me out. You're gonna bring yourself down You're gonna bring yourself down; Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner, Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down."

"Over an' oyt, last call for sin, while everyone's lost, de battle is won wi' al' dees things dat Ah've done all dees things dat Ah've done if yer can 'owl on if yer can 'owl on!" MacTavish's voice came above all else, and his Irish accent filled words lifted the spirits of his men.

Roach couldn't believe this was happening. What would General Shepherd have a say about this? Roach grinned at his captain; if MacTavish had no problem with this, sure as hell Shepherd won't either…that or he would never know about this.


End file.
